


Why a Butterfly Can't Love a Spider

by Oblinajayne



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM Scene, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Depressed Peter Parker, Dom Peter Parker, Dom Wade Wilson, Drug Use, Explicit Consent, Fighting Kink, M/M, Sub Peter Parker, Sub Wade Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26835277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oblinajayne/pseuds/Oblinajayne
Summary: Peter is struggling after a break up, his coping mechanism leads him to discover some interesting places (and faces).Inspired by an ever evolving playslist, starting with the namesake by Frank Carter & the Rattlesnakes.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 216





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an ever evolving playslist, starting with the namesake by Frank Carter & the Rattlesnakes. Some other songs mentioned but the playlist can be found on Spotify - 'Spidypool' by C-j Janye.  
> Not really adhering to any specific timelines etc but trying to stay as canon as possible.

Peter Parker was exhausted. He hadn’t lost control of his life to this extent since being taken over by an intergalactic parasite. At least that had provided some perks when getting pummelled by the crooked underbelly on a daily basis. Sadly he chose at least part of his punishment. A full time job and undertaking a PhD in genomics only skimmed the surface of his current commitments. The daily grind served as a means to keep a roof over his head for the moments he doesn’t spend swinging around the Big Apple as Spiderman. His recent break up with MJ meant he was back to a dingy studio apartment in the dingier corner of the city, between Hell’s Kitchen and the Meat packing district. The Avengers had him on standby so at least Tony Stark still kitted him out; he had that going for him.

He jostled the partly rusted door, shuffling into his mediocre lodgings. He nuked the remains of his pizza that had served as his dinner the last few nights before collapsing onto his twin bed. A familiar cool fabric brushed his cheek. Groaning, Peter looked at the clock. He had a few hours before he was due for patrol. Since moving back into the city, Peter had formed an agreement with the local B-list heroes. It was nice to have some breathing space, but not even his healing factor could mend a broken heart any faster. Greif and depression were Peter’s constant companions these days.

Trying not to burn his mouth, Peter shovelled his merge meal searching his freezer for some liquid courage. He needed it if he was going to leave his thankfully comfortable bed tonight. 

“Fuck!” He snarled, pissed at his past self for leaving barely a nip in the bottle without procuring a replacement. Sighing, he changed into his Spidey suit and suitable civvies, before pocketing his mask and accessories and heading out his fire escape. No room for keys in Tony’s latest design, such a commonplace need was not something the billionaire had to consider for himself, after all.

Peter decided to check out the dive bar he had swung past a few nights ago, it was only two blocks down from his building. He got the feeling it would be place that he could slip into the background and close enough to stagger home to fall onto his bed before. All this before his super speed metabolism could kill his buzz on those nights where he judged himself for drinking alone.

His suspicions were correct. The clientele was significantly more grunge compared to the growing number of hipster ale houses and cliché gay clubs that were spreading along the main street fronts. This appeared to be in the basement of an old Catholic church or school.

“Lil’a column A, lil’a column B perhaps,” Peter muttered to himself as he sank into a small booth towards the back of the room. He took a swig of his triple on the rocks, watching a group of burley old dudes nearly lose their shit over a game of pool. _‘Not my problem, I am staying off duty for the next hour.’_

A chill suddenly crept across Peter’s neck, his hair standing on end. He felt eyes on him, he was being watched. However his Spidey sense was not alerting him to imminent danger, but a not-exactly-uncomfortable knot was starting to form in his gut. A clean cut if not slightly bookish, mid-to-late-twenties guy was certainly not the standard customer but the coke-bottle glasses wearing stoner type behind the bar had set Peter’s mind at ease initially. He tried to ignore whoever it was, they were probably just people watching, which is exactly what Peter had hoped to do while he drank.

A few minutes passed and he noticed a large hoody clad figure at the jukebox. It didn’t seem to be going his way as he was thumping it with his fist as Peter waved at the bespectacled bartender motioning for a refill. A steady thrum of baseline came over the load speaker as two glasses of bright amber liquid appeared on the table, the delivery person falling heavily (but gracefully) into the chair across from him.

“I like your taste in Japanese whiskey, gorgeous,” cooed the hoody wearing, juke box harasser. “What’s a good boy like you doing in a place like this?” His voice was like honey on gravel road. Smooth and rough at the same time.

Peter’s indescribable metaphysical knot tightened a little. Something about this guy was weirdly familiar. He took a swallow of his new drink, his need for stranger danger all but dissolved with his spider bite. “What, this isn’t the line for Confession? Father forgive me,” he retorted, rolling his eyes.

“Oh-hoho! You can tell me all your dirtiest secrets and call me Daddy all you want but believe me when I have strayed far, far away from that line of work,” said his table mate with a wink. “Don’t let the looks fool ya’!” He leant over and swept his free thumb over Peter’s hand cupping his now half empty glass.

Peter raised an eyebrow at the forwardness of this complete stranger. The roughness of his finger sent shivers up Peter’s spine. Looking down he realised that the skin of both his companion’s hands were extremely scarred. Red, angry looking valleys lined glistening scar tissue in places, the limited flat areas of skin littered with pockmarks like the remains of the worst full body acne. Peter focused through the dim light of the bar and noticed his face was no different. 

The scarred man felt Peter’s eyes returning the favour of staring. He coughed and fidgeted, uncomfortable for the briefest moment, before speaking again. “Like what you see, sweetie pie?” His bravado returned with full force.

“I-uh,” Peter’s head was swimming from alcohol and the speed at which this guy could turn on a dime. He didn’t intend to be rude. His skin was a sight to behold but by no stretch was he the strangest or most terrifying sight Peter had seen, not by a long shot. “I mean, you are no extra-terrestrial skull face. Those guys still haunt me.” He said by way of excuse. He decided the invasion of New York by the Chitauri was recent and publicised enough to give nothing away.

“You got me there, baby boy,” the man said, chuckling into his drink.

“Well, sorry to break it to ya now, but I gotta run,” Peter said, slipping out of his seat and standing with much more grace than an average human 6 nips into their night. His head spun only the slightest, enough to make the first half hour of web slinging that bit more exhilarating. 

“Awwwh but we were just starting to have fun!” Peter ignored him, leaving a tip for the bar tender before slinking off into the night.

\---

Hours passed with minimal issue. Peter was starting to yawn, his buzz well and truly over. He had started circling in towards where he had stashed his clothes when his senses started screaming at him. Passing a burnt out building a few blocks from home, he heard a gunshot sound out in the pre-dawn stillness (or as close to as you can get in New York City). 

Scuttling across the wall he peered through a glassless window frame. One man was tied to a chair in what had once been a board room, another man stood over him with a pistol. The first man was struggling against his restraints, trying to plead against the gag in his mouth. The gunslinger was demanding the code to the safe in a rasping hushed voice, reminding the other that no one was coming.

“Well gentlemen, I hate to break up a party like this, but I do think we need to reign it in here.” Peter said after leaping in towards the hostage. “I think we all have some nice warm beds to crawl into with a clear conscious. Thoughts?” He placed his body between the hostage and his assailant. 

For the first time in a thankfully long time, the assailant did not back down, instead he seemed to smile. His gun hand twitched as Peter felt his body jolt out of control. The supposed hostage had disabled him with a cattle prod.

 _‘Fucckkk!’_ His brain could do nothing else but curse at his faux pas. He had not fallen for that tactic in so long. _‘Maybe the alcohol is numbing the Spidey sense after all.’_

The two men seemed to be arguing over who had the honour of chaining up the ‘fuckin’ pestulance of the Bossman’s business’ when he managed to muster the strength to blast the two assailants to the wall. The one lasting ‘gift’ from his time under Venom’s control had been the development of spinnerets in his wrists. While not as versatile it did in a pinch when his Karen’s system had to reboot.

“Guys, the sneak attack is not a fair way to play. So how about I give you that one, and you tell me who the brains behind this operation is.” Peter circled in, adding more web to stifle their squirming. 

“You are a wanted man, Spider guy!” Said one. 

“Got a pretty bounty on ya head!” Said the other.

“I am well aware I am popular in your circles _mi amigos_ ,” he retorted sarcastically. “I asked for specifics not information I already knew.”

“Newbies with balls. What a sight to behold,” came a voice from the doorway behind Peter. “A royal cock up of a sight if you ask me!”

Peter spun around, a large figure clad in red and black leant against the door jamb. Deadpool. It had been years since Peter had first met the Merc with a Mouth and months since he had last been this close to him. Peter was still not entirely sure where his loyalties truly were. He hadn’t lasted long with the X-Men, Tony couldn’t stand him. Last Peter had heard was he was hunting down the last remaining Nazis in South America. Peter had to admit to himself that he found that to be a ‘pro’ in his eyes, even if he knew exactly what Deadpool was capable of doing to his targets.

“Deadpool, what are you doing here?” Peter was uneasy, hoping for no major carnage tonight.

“DP! Come cut us down and we can split the bounty!” Said fake hostage.

“What does it look like I am doing, Webs?” Deadpool countered rhetorically, “I am here to claim my prize.” Peter gulped but prepared to spring into action as Deadpool unsheathed his katanas. Deadpool rushed him, Peter leapt to the ceiling as his amigos started to cheer and holler. This was short lived, their brief jeering ended with twin sickening thuds as Deadpool decapitated both men.

“What the ACTUAL hell!” Peter exclaimed, landing next to Deadpool as he cleaned his prized weapons. 

“What? No thank you? I saved your life sweet cheeks,” Deadpool was now studying his reflection in the mirror edge of Bea. 

“I had the situation under control! You did not need to chop their bloody heads off!” He briefly thought back on the first time he had been witness to Deadpool’s fury and the sickening turn in his gut. Tonight he was at least thankful to not be the one he had actually come for. “I thought you were coming after me, why did you have to go and do that?”

“Like I said, I was claiming my own bounty.” He was picking through the pockets of the bodies, pulling out their ID. “Gerry here is your friendly neighbourhood kiddy fiddler. Tomas over there sold his daughter into human slavery for drug money. The world will not shed a tear.”

“W-wait. But, what about their families? Their victims?” Peter almost chocked on the knowledge he had just become privy to.

“Who do you think is paying me?” Deadpool waggled his masked eyebrows at Peter. “Besides, they were also serious about their plans, however ham fisted. They were gonna sell your fine ass off to the highest bidder and escape to some dark corner of the globe to continue their depravity.” He kicked Gerry’s head towards an abandoned bin, pumping his fist as it toppled over.

“I guess you have a point there. A disturbing and brutal point.” Peter reasoned. “S-should I help you clean this up?” he gulped, hoping his offer was not taken up.  
“Don’t worry your pretty little head, baby boy, I got this covered,” Deadpool was texting as he remarked flippantly.

Peter nodded as he made for the window, he was about to swing into the weak dawn light when a phrase echoed in his head; _‘baby boy. WHAT THE HELL!’_  
“Deadpool.” Peter slowly rounded from his launch site, his voice deadly serious.

“Mmm,” Deadpool still hadn’t looked up from his phone.

“Deadpool!” He was not quite as tall as the merc and nowhere as brawny, but as Peter stalked over to him, breathing audibly, Deadpool pocketed his phone and paid attention to his now not so friendly neighbourhood Spiderman.

“Yes sweetums,” he replied, unfazed as he was cornered by a fuming Spiderman, blue and red clad arms either side of his head.

“You were in that dive bar. You brought my drink over. Didn’t you?” He demanded.

“Why yes I did. Your ass looks just as good in denim as it does in Stark spandex by the way.” Peter could tell he was winking under his mask.

“H-how?” The panic was all too evident in his demand, but his posture did not falter. He edged slightly closer. He could hear Deadpool swallow. 

“Let’s put it this way, Webs. You may not be the new kid on the block any more but you are new to MY block and you have made a lot of enemies in my neck of the underworldly woods. As much as the Avengers see me as the booger at the end of their collective nose, they still have had me around at the tower if there is intel to share. I may not have genius level intellect but when there is a hotty in Tony’s private lab working on something that shoots webs, I am gonna put two and two together to make Spiderman.” He casually caressed Peter’s bicep, causing a growl to escape Peter’s lips.

“Ohh, cranky are we?” Deadpool teased, placing both hands behind his head, leaning into the wall Peter still had him caged onto. “I have done you a favour!”

“I had the situation UNDER CONTROL!” Peter interjected harshly, the last two hissed out, oozing with vitriol.

“Sure, sure,” Deadpool chortled, “twitching on the floor is totally being in control of the situation.”

“Fuck you,” Peter spat, leaning in closer to the merc reclining languidly against the wall within the cage of Peter’s forearms.

“Gladly!” He replied to the rhetorical statement, slipping a hand up Peter’s rigid bicep. Peter pushed him away in frustration, his enhanced strength causing the considerably larger man to topple to the floor. Peter didn’t look back, flinging himself into the predawn hush. Deadpool’s words following him as he leapt; “It’s Wade, by the way.”

\---

Peter was still fuming as he landed on the roof of the rundown building that housed the sleazy bar where an unmasked Deadpool, _Wade_ , had accosted him earlier. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his rage as to not tear his bag open. Once dressed, mask and gloves stowed safely away, he made for the closest fire escape. Hand on the rail, he noticed the persistent yet dull thrum from the floor below. Had it not been for his spider given gifts, he doubted that he would have detected it. He listened closer, bass heavy industrial music was being blasted despite the early hours. The same song from earlier. Clearly the building was less abandoned than Peter had once thought and someone had invested in some seriously commendable sound proofing.

He crept down the ladder, keeping out of sight of the well tinted large window to his left. He peeked around the brick ledge, the honey blonde hair of a Serena Van der Woodsen-esque escort was the first thing he noticed through dark glass. Her eyes covered with a sash of red leather. Black and red leather clad arms wrapped around her waist, her legs encircling a similarly attired thick, strong waist. Eerily clear, pale blue eyes glinted from the bare, mottled face that belonged to none other than Deadpool. The woman writhed in obvious ecstasy, her small wrists easily held above her head by one hand, Wade’s other hand pressed against the glass, his eyes locked with Peter’s. Momentarily stunned, Peter became acutely aware of the knot in his stomach returning, as well as an equally niggling sensation a few inches lower.

Realisation of what his body had been trying to tell him washed over him. His brain re-engaging, Peter scampered down the next four floors, rushing home, cheeks flushing. He knew that he would not be getting the few hours of sleep he had promised himself. No, that time was now to be devoted to the ache growing in his jeans.

\---

Two weeks passed. Pay checks came and went. Alcohol entered Peter’s apartment and swiftly followed the journey to his blood stream. It was now Friday and one of the rarest kind for the strung out Lab Tech/Tutor come PhD student come Superhero; Peter had no commitments for the next 48 hours. However Peter had found himself in a similar predicament. His supplies had dried out. It was early still, barely past 10pm. Instinctually he grabbed his wallet and keys, pocketed his Spider accessories (can’t ever be caught out unprepared!), making his way for the nearest liquor store.

Unfortunately the path to said store lead Peter past Sister Margaret’s, the Hellhouse and Deadpool’s apartment. Barely in control of his actions, Peter descended the stairs, b-lined for the bar before settling in the same secluded booth he had previously claimed. A stab of very human panic washed over Peter as he realised that this was most likely a haunt for mercenaries of all types. Why else would Deadpool live _in the same building_? His first drink disappeared faster than usual. Even his metabolism could not stop the world from becoming ever so blurred at the edges as he neared the halfway point of his second. 

The patrons gave Peter a wide berth, but he was able to at least dabble in some people watching while he nursed the rest of his drink. Peter suspected that the blonde vampy woman that had been paying particular attention to a husky trucker type was indeed Jessica Jones in one of her various disguises. 

_‘What the hell am I still doing here?’_ Peter asked himself as Jess’s fake laugh pierced through the lazy rock ballad playing. _‘He won’t be here, he will be off decapitating a corrupt priest or something.’_ The world only swam a little as Peter retraced his steps out of the bar. Reaching the top of the stairs, Peter heard the familiar sound of fist hitting face. His better judgement impaired, Peter left the safety of the poorly lit street, slinking into the dark alley that ran into the depths of the partly dilapidated complex. Towering over a kneeling man, a figure clad in red and black held his fist up ready to strike. 

Not thinking clearly, Peter hurtled down towards trouble, only just remembering to reel back the hero strength as he flung himself at Deadpool’s side. The merc grabbed his attacker’s wrist, twisting the arm around Peter’s back, gaze not once leaving the man cowering before him. Converse where nowhere near as stealthy as his Spidey suit.

“While I genuinely appreciate the fact you literally just threw yourself at me baby boy, can you not see that Daddy is in the middle of a very important job,” Wade growled, unsheathing a hunting knife from his belt. “You see, Troy here has upset a few of his nieces by making some very inappropriate suggestions, going so far as to taking some very lascivious Polaroids of them. So now we are going to take advantage of the fact he has just _pissed himself_ to take a few happy snaps of him, this knife, and this handsome face. Now why don’t you be a good boy and grab my phone and do the honours.”

Free hand trembling, Peter had few other choices but to reach into Deadpool’s closest pouch and retrieve his phone. He was pulled into an awkward angle as Deadpool leant next to Troy’s tear stained face, knife against Troy’s jugular, thumb thrown up at a jaunty angle along the handle. A few bright flashes later, Deadpool approved of the evidence. Still gripping Peter and boxing Troy into his urine stained corner, he hissed at the shivering, sobbing mess, “Now you be a good piece of shit and leave those girls alone, or next time you will have blood stains to worry about in you khakis. Now go clean yourself up you filthy pig.”

Deadpool moved aside allowing Troy to scramble away. Before Peter had a chance to use his strength against him, Deadpool grabbed Peter’s free hand, twisting them both uncomfortably behind his back and shoving his face into the filthy brick. Peter slammed a foot into Wade’s thigh and dropped to his knees, surprising the larger man with his flexibility. He managed to flip the merc who landed with a thud.

“Fuck that was hot,” was the reply from the ground, before Wade leapt to his feet, grabbing Peter again, this time using his entire body to hold Peter against the wall. Peter was acutely aware of how close their groins were in this position. Reflexively, Peter slammed his face into his nose before Wade could ascertain the reaction the close proximity was having on him. A sickening thud indicated Wade’s nose had broken, but he didn’t release his prey.

“Ouch! Damn, you really do like it rough. Alright, if that’s the way you want to play it.” Wade lifted his mask high enough to wipe the blood pooled under his nose, his other hand wrapped around Peter’s neck. His large fingers rough and hot, his grip tight enough to highlight the fact that he could easily crush Peter's windpipe if that was what he planned. Peter could barely suppress a shudder at that thought. _‘I shouldn’t be letting him get away with this,’_ he thought. _‘Why don’t I just fight back?’_

“Tsk tsk. You gotta learn that you can’t always be in control,” Deadpool hissed in Peter’s ear, well aware that if Peter really wanted control in this moment, he could retake it. Peter internally scoffed at Wade’s comment. _‘If only he knew how out of control my life currently is...’_

{Why is he letting this happen?}  
[He has seen our face, why is he not, like ‘stop, drop and roll’-ing or some shit?]

Wade ignored his internal peanut gallery, he was far to exhilarated by the turn of events. He was expecting to be detangling himself from webbing at this point. “I take it you liked the peep show the other morning,” Wade breathed into the shell of Peter’s ear, lips brushing his skin. Peter was momentarily blinded as light spilled into their derelict corner. He had not even noticed the door in the struggle that had preceded this predicament. 

Wade shoved Peter through the door then into a waiting service elevator. Finally releasing his neck, Peter’s head spun slightly. Wade stalked towards the smaller man, caging him into the corner of the metal box. Peter’s chest rose and fell quickly, the anticipation creeping in as Wade stepped closer. His perpetually chapped lips somewhere between a sneer and a gloating grin, but eerily silent for once. A cheerful _ding_ broke the silence, doors opening behind Peter. Still facing Wade, Peter was herded into a loft apartment, spun around and again bailed up against another brick wall. Wade grabbed each of Peter’s wrists, pinning them above his head. In the dim light, could just make out the large window he had been on the other side of not long ago, just feet from where he was now.

“So what’s it going to be, baby boy? Are we going to continue this charade, where you are appalled by me taking out the literal garbage of humanity, or,” Wade stepped impossibly closer, grinding his strong thighs and tenting pants into Peter’s firm ass, “are we going to settle this once and for all?”

Peter whimpered as he felt Wade’s mouth trail alternating nips and kisses from ear to shoulder, teeth sinking deeper at the join of his outstretched neck. 

[Is this actually happening right now?]  
{Did we score some roofies without realising it?}

“I asked you a question, sweet cheeks,” Wade growled into Peter’s ear, sucking on his earlobe, making sure to use teeth as he released it, “do I have a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?”

 _‘There is no use pretending I am not so fucking into this and that I hadn’t been checking out Deadpool since our first meeting!’_ Peter’s silence was broken when Wade rolled his hips and his own tenting suit into his back, forcing Peter’s denim clad erection into the rough wall in front. “F-fuck, yes, ok! I am so fucking into this, ok? Oh my God-“ Peter’s consenting lips were met with a rough, unrelenting attack from Wade’s mouth, tasting faintly metallic from Peter’s prior attack. Wade had flipped him, Peter’s back slamming against the wall and the flexible spiderling wrapped his legs around Wade’s strong torso. Wade reached for his belt, retrieving a silky black length of material.

“W-wait!” Peter pleaded, voice wreaked with lust. Wade froze, expecting untimely rejection. “No blind fold. No mask. Please, I want to see all of you.” Peter emphasised his point by toying with the folded edge of Wade’s mask. After a beat with no resistance, he removed Wade’s mask, revealing a look of mildly skeptical approval, eyes dark with wanting.

“It’s on you if you end up with nightmares then, baby boy,” Wade warned, his hands tangling in Peter’s hair, pulling his head back to expose more of his deliciously supple neck to his teeth and lips. Wade carried his guest upstairs to his bedroom, taking full advantage of this time to caress both sides of his supple buttocks, the object of many of Wade’s wet dreams. 

Peter landed roughly on the expansive bed, Wade kneeling either side of Peter’s slim legs. Wade palmed at the front of Peter’s crotch sending shockwaves through his lithe form.

“Goddamn you are a sight to behold Webs,” Wade panted, “you ought to give me a show. Get up and strip for me. Then you can have the honour of undressing me.” Wade rolled onto his side, briefly fiddled with his phone, playing what Peter could imagine was titled something along the lines of ‘Banging’. _Discipline_ by Nine Inch Nails set the stage for what was to come.

Peter rose from the soft sheets, feeling a mix of embarrassment and exhilaration. Closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment for a second, he ran his hands through his hair, down his neck, stopping at the hem of his shirt. He lifted both his long sleeved undershirt and Tee slowly over his head, revealing his Spidey suit underneath. He and Tony had made sure to add the latest thermoregulation specs to this model so he could layer over it as needed.

”You make spandex criminally hot,” Wade commented hungrily. He ran a hand down Peter’s abs, slipping his hand under the seam in his suit to caress his skin with gloved hands. Peter brought said hand to his mouth, removing the glove with his teeth. Wade sucked in a surprised breath when Peter’s suit shirt was added to the pile of abandoned clothes and Peter replaced the hand on his fully exposed abdomen. “Fuck yes, keep this up baby boy!”

Peter kicked off his shoes, making sure to give Wade a close up view of his ass as he bent over to remove his socks. He undid his belt as slowly as he could bare. His dick was aching to be released. His jeans fell to the floor, leaving just suit pants and trunks. Wade seemed to stop breathing momentarily as those layers were also discarded.

[Did we die for real and end up in heaven?]  
{He is fucking gorgeous!}

“Mmmm, Daddy like.” Wade sat up on the bed and ran both his bare hands over the lithe, naked body in front of him. He stood, taking Peter’s soft lips in his again, his hand sliding between them to stroke Peter’s exposed cock. He moaned loudly into Wade’s mouth. Peter reached up to unzip the merc’s suit, his fingers raking over the textural assortment that was Wade’s skin. Wade groaned appreciatively at the direct contact. Peter fumbled with the tangle of clips and buckles from the infamous utility belt and below. Wade chuckled softly at the sheer frustration on Peter’s face before helping to remove the last of his suit.

Peter took a moment to take in the sight before him. Sure Wade’s skin was… different. But it was just skin (and scar tissue) after all. The sum of all his parts was still incredibly strong, powerfully muscled and undeniably handsome. His blue eyes and facial features alone had captivated Peter all those weeks ago. Then there was the sizeable cock poised and waiting for Peter’s attention. The smaller man swallowed, licked his lips then knelt down in front of the merc. He ran his hands over the taught thighs, finishing with both hands at the base of Wade’s throbbing cock. Peter’s soft tongue flicked over the head almost causing Wade’s knees to buckle.

“Baby boy, I love your initiative,” Wade purred, grabbing another fist full of soft brown hair. Peter let Wade control the depth and pace, revelling in what he had denied himself for so long. Wade’s choice was to slowly, languidly, fuck Peter’s face.

{Holy shit, we are getting a blow job from Spiderman!}  
[We can die a happy man today. Then re-alive to wank to this for all the days to come.]

Peter, feeling brave, slipped a hand lower to caress Wade’s heavy, tight balls. A low moan preceded a few faster strokes, taking full advantage of Peter’s impressive lack of gag reflex. Suddenly Wade pulled Peter off himself, Peter’s eyes wide and mouth making a delightfully sinful _pop_ as his mouth was released.

Wade pulled the younger man to his feet, mashing his face to his swollen lips, tasting himself of his mouth. Peter went to run his hands along the ridges of Wade’s head but found himself lifted, kneeling on the bed, Wade standing over him once again.

“Fuck you look so _delicious_ from this angle, Spidey!” Wade all but moaned. Peter heard a bottle cap pop which was quickly followed by Wade slipping a well lubricated digit along Peter’s cleft, finding the tight ring of muscle, toying with it. Peter whimpered as Wade dipped just the tip of one of his large fingers into him, stroking gentle circles.

“You are so hungry for this, aren’t you baby boy?” asked the merc. Peter choked out a yes as he desperately tried to raise his hips for _more_. Wade was having none of it. He leant over Peter, his free hand once again fisting his hair, holding his head against the bed at an almost painful angle. “Not so fast. I would say you may choke but from what I just experienced, that doesn’t seem to be much of a concern.”

Wade eventually relented, trusting his thick finger entirely into Peter, who cried out in delight. Wade added another, then a third. Peter was practically sobbing into the bed. Wade could hardly believe this was happening but was enjoying every _fucking_ second of it. He tilted his hand, just so, to stoke against Peter’s prostate. If Peter hadn’t been sobbing before, he was now.

“Oh fuck! God! Fuck, Wade! Please!” Peter babbled, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets.

“You ask so nicely baby boy, but I can’t even imagine what you could want right now,” Wade teased. “Do you want more of this,” He massaged Peter’s prostate, “or are you begging for me to fill you up with my cock?”

“W-wade! Your cock! Please!” Peter all but mewled.

“Please, _what_?” Wade emphasised the ‘h’ as if he was an old timey southern plantation owner.

”P-please, D-daddy,” Peter’s face flushed over the heat already pouring out of him. Wade nearly came hearing the words. He held himself together, applying a smattering of lube to his considerable length.

“What a good boy,” he lined the head of his cock up with Peter’s widened opening. “Keep up your good work and let Daddy know _just_ how good you feel,” Wade thrust in all the way, stopping as he bottomed out to fully appreciate being where he had only _dreamt_ of being since first meeting the famous hero beneath him. He grabbed Peter’s hips in both hands, working their hips in opposing unison to a punishing rhythm. 

Peter, his upper body now free, rested on his forearms, looking over his shoulder as Wade had his way with him, his brown eyes almost black with arousal. His mouth had fallen silent, his lips parted, breath coming in swift pants. Wade reached between his lean legs, grabbing Peter’s forgotten and yet sizable length in his calloused palm. Peter’s mouth resumed uttering stuttered, almost nonsensical expletives as Wade pumped him in time with their thrusts.

Peter held on as long as he could, but soon he came, painting streaks onto Wade’s Hello Kitty bed spread. The spasms of Peter’s orgasm undid Wade moments later. Again, he took a moment to appreciate where he was, who he was with and what had just happened.

{A broken nose is well worth it. It’s all healed now anyways.}  
[Fuck we have paid much more for much less, with people we can’t ever remember the name of!]

Wade pulled free, he hoped before it had gotten weird, pulling Peter into the clean side of the bed. Peter was blissed out to a point of speechlessness once again. Wade unquestioningly tucked the smaller man into his covers and allowed him to curl up next to him, the smaller man running his long, slender fingers over the ridges of Wade’s skin and muscles, as he passed out. Wade had not expected this, any of this, but he was almost convinced this was the best part.

{Nope, Spidey sucking us off.}  
[Nope, having him call us Daddy.]

“Nope,” Wade muttered to himself as the faintest snores started to sound from the crook of his arm, “this is the best part.”


	2. Obsessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up in a strange place after an even stranger night. He struggles to deal with the fall out of that night...

Peter woke with a start. He was acutely aware that he was not in his own bed. The luxuriously soft, light cotton caressing his skin was a stark contrast to the scratchy discount poly blend sheets he had grabbed from the sales table at Target. The bed was also significantly larger than his twin ensemble. However it was just as empty as his own.

Blinking into the hazy mid-morning light streaming through the large windows. Peter noticed he was surrounded by an obnoxiously pink duvet, juxtaposing the large weapons rack on the wall above the dresser. The previous night’s events came flooding back. Peter leapt out of bed half expecting to see Deadpool, staring over him. 

The room was jarringly empty, the apartment as a whole silent. Peter’s heart pounded in his ears. _‘What did I do to him?’_ His panic ebbed as his mind clicked into place, remembering there was no way of actually ‘un-aliving’ Wade Wilson. This eased more so when he saw the note left on the bedside table.

>   
>  Hey Webs,  
>  Sorry I wasn’t here to spoon ya this morning. Had to dash.  
>  Coffee should still be hot.  
>  You know where to find me  
>  \- DP  
> 

Peter collected his multiple layers, surprised at how neat Wade’s apartment was. He had expected chaos. He followed his nose to the quaint kitchen that could be featured on some eclectic _Pinterest_ page, opening a few doors before finding a mug. The coffee was there as promised, and more palatable than what he was living off. He scoffed noticing the canister. ‘Tim Horton’s, _of course_.’

Peter considered snooping, but was mildly concerned about what he may find. Instead the extended his own invitation to the well-worn but delightfully plump leather sofa. He replayed the events of the night before, feeling pangs of guilt for his inability to just act normally around Wade, something about him made Peter want to lash out, to reject him. Perhaps it was his overzealous flirting, the unpredictability or maybe even the murder. _‘It’s definitely the murder.’_ Peter agreed with himself. However there was still an equally sized part that was so intrigued with him, with Deadpool, and how opposite the two were.

Peter sighed, leaning back in the seat. It smelt of gunpowder, tabasco, something woody and the faintest metallic tang of blood. It smelt of Deadpool, of Wade. _‘At least he seems to choose targets wisely’_ Peter mused, still not totally sold on that being entirely excusable. 

After a few minutes of internal debate, Peter decided he would scribble his cell number on the bottom of the note he had found before departing via fire escape.

\--- 

A month came and went.

The first week or so Peter avoided the block housing Sister Margaret’s. He just had not come to a clear decision on how he felt about running into Wade just yet.

Week two dragged on and Peter had expected some form of contact from the man that never let a moment pass him to comment of Peter’s ass. He decided to risk a drink at the Hell House, just one, but no sign of Wade.

Three weeks in and Peter was certain something was amiss. He even started taking up nightly patrols again just to have an excuse to pass by. Wade’s apartment was dark and empty.

By week four Peter had started to feel like he had been stood up. He had fully expected a call, a text, hell he was even ready for a Deadpool DP. Peter felt used.

Initially, in the days following their tryst, Peter had felt lighter, more at ease with life. He had been coping with his life stress better, not being as distant with his colleagues and hell he even stopped drinking daily. But that had ebbed away once the feelings of rejection creeped in. It was hard enough being left at the altar, to be rejected by a person seemingly so sycophantic was another kick to the proverbial gut.

Peter climbed up the familiar ladder, jaded by the feeling of being drawn to the same building each night when he saw the light flick on, illuminating the dusk darkened corner of the top floor. _‘He’s back.’_ Peter froze for a moment, considering finding another rooftop. He pushed through the thought, instead taking cover in the landing above that had likely once been used as a greenhouse, the shade cloth providing enough camouflage in the mostly dark alley for Peter to shed his clothes and stash them in his bag.

Taking to the wall, not sure if he wanted to be discovered, Peter climbed to the top window. He could see Wade, no suit, pacing around his lounge room. A man in a suit sat at the small table looking bemused. The man was pinching his nose above what appeared to be sunglasses. Inside. At night. _‘He must be blind…’_ Peter deduced. Sitting in front of the man was a file of documents and a stack of bank notes of varying currencies. To his right was a very familiar looking cane. _‘Daredevil!’_ Peter had to stop himself from verbalising his realisation.

A frustrated looking Wade slumped on the couch, mobile in hand, texting. Daredevil turned to face Wade’s general direction, leaning his arm on the back of the chair. The doorbell rang, the sound nearly had Peter jumping out of his skin. A greasy teenage delivery boy handed a now masked Wade an oversized bag of what appeared to be Mexican food. Wade eagerly laid it out on the table, nearly spilling Daredevil's documents everywhere. That’s when Peter clicked – the man he knew as Daredevil was the blind lawyer making waves around these parts, Matt Murdock.

Matt retrieved his documents with more grace than most non-sighted people, stowing them in a brief case. Wade was mask-less once more, his brow knotted in what looked like frustration. Matt reached out a hand, finding the fist that Wade had clenched on the table, gently stroking it.

Peter didn’t stick around to see what happened next. His stomach had knotted and jaw had clenched. 

\--- 

It was close to midnight by the time Peter’s patrol was done. He donned his street clothes, avoiding a certain window on his way. His emotions had not calmed much after foiling two bank heists and at least three stalkers. He decided to stop by the bar on his way home. He had some feelings to drown out if he wanted sleep.

Being a Friday, the colourful patrons were at a rowdy state, but no one seemed to mind the now all too familiar gloomy twink that seemed to haunt the back booth these days. Peter sat with his bottle of cheap vodka and drank until his couldn’t quite feel the tip of his nose.

Pushing through the throng of bearded men singing along to _Judas_ by Lady Gaga ( _‘Still not the strangest thing I have seen here’_ ) Peter shuffled up the stairs, needing to use the hand rail for support. 

Walking along a well-rehearsed path, Peter blinked when the street light suddenly seemed to disappear. It hadn’t, but he had been whisked into the alley by strong arms, caught completely unawares. 

“Petey-pie, long time no see,” a deep voice crooned. “Miss me? Weasel told me you were drinking away your frustrations again.” Peter’s face drained of all colour, his pallor clear even in the dark. “Don’t _stress_ your pretty ass. He isn’t aware of who you are, exactly. Your inability to be floored by half a bottle of spirits only lands you _somewhere_ on the ‘more than an alcoholic, likely some kind of mutant’ spectrum.” Wade had Peter pinned against the wall by his shoulders, his masked face hovering just next to Peter’s ear.

“Fuckin’ hell Wade,” Peter growled, clenching his fists. “You can’t just yank me off the street and shit!” He slurred slightly.

“Oh baby boy, you gotta learn to relax, and in other ways,” Deadpool closed the gap between their bodies, “besides, you can trust me.” His hand left Peter’s shoulder to cup his jaw, stroking his gloved thumb along the strong line, sweeping up to caress his soft lower lip. Peter realised then how much he longed to be touched by the man’s uniquely textured skin. But he also remembered earlier, another hero/vigilante stroking the same hand toying with Peter’s face. He shoved Deadpool away with more force than he intended.

“What the hell Petey,” Wade made to grab his arm but Peter dodged him. Peter could tell even through the mask that Wade was confused and taken aback. “Pete-?”

“Whatever,” Peter huffed, pushing past the larger man, hailing a nearby taxi. He directed the driver to follow a convoluted route out towards the Village before circling back in. Peter was certain he could still felt he merc’s eyes on him, but hoped he had lost his car along the way. The coast seemed clear as Peter used the main entry to his building. He made sure to deadbolt the door, even though he figured that would barely be a deterrent if Wade really wanted in.

Peter wasn’t quite sure he was able to fully admit to himself that he was jealous of the closeness shared between the anti-hero and the blind vigilante lawyer.

\--- 

Another week rolled by. Peter avoided the block where Wade lived like the plague. He had occasionally spotted the red and black figure a few times, just watching as he swung by. 

Peter arrived home just as the sun was setting on Saturday. He had spent the morning working overtime before marking disappointing exams and pouring over unnecessary adjustments to his latest article. He was exhausted, angry and frustrated, in a number of ways. He dumped his bag on the small rickety dining table, not paying much mind to the figure on the couch.

“Hey Webs,” came an all too familiar voice from Peter’s couch. Peter, completely unaware, spidey sense and all, jumped and stuck to the ceiling. A soft chuckle came from the couch. Regaining a normal breathing rate, Peter peeled himself off the roof.

“I find myself asking you this far too often,” Peter panted, exasperated, “but, WHAT THE FUCK?”

“The back booth at the Hell House has been looking pretty lonely without you in it, so I thought I would invite myself over to shout you a bottle of your favourite poison.” Peter noticed then that there was indeed an open bottle of whisky on his rickety coffee table, a glass poured already. He eyed said glass with suspicion until he noticed that Wade too had a mostly empty glass in hand, his mask folded up exposing only from his lips down.

Peter sighed, there was likely no easy way to rid himself of Wade. Even if he did literally throw the man out of his window, if Wade wanted to annoy him, he would come straight back. Besides, who was he to decline a free bottle of high end liquor? He downed the glass, topped it up and flopped into the well-worn armchair furthest from Wade. The all too familiar warm rush washed over him but he still reached for more.

Peter could tell Wade was watching every move he made. He felt trapped within his own shitty apartment. _‘Why do they call them apartments if they are so fucking close together?’_ Peter mused to himself. Wade chuckled again.

“You ask the hard hitting questions Petey. Speaking of which, I have a hunch that I would appreciate you share some insight on,” the merc stretched himself back a bit in the almost hilariously ill prepared loveseat. “Have you been avoiding me Spidey?” 

Deadpool placed a knee over the armrest and folded his arms behind his head, all the while watching Peter, whose mind seemed to be focused on other things. Namely how easy it would be for him to climb onto the lap of the man that had broken into his apartment after stalking him a few days earlier. He certainly wasn’t questioning the fact that either Deadpool had gained the power of telepathy or Peter had lost control of his mental filter.

“Well?” The bemused man cocked an eyebrow, Peter could tell even with the mask on. 

“I-, uh, well. Maybe?” Peter felt a flush creeping over his cheeks. He tried to fight the urge to speak his mind, to utter the words that he had denied himself to think, let alone speak. “Look, I get that you are, well, you. I get that you aren’t the likeliest to be tethered down. But, uh, I kinda thought that after the way you essentially fan-girl over me, or at least that side of me,” he gestured to the mask hidden not so well behind a couch cushion, “that this was maybe going to be more than a ‘one and done’ scenario. But I didn’t hear from you in weeks, then saw you the other night with Daredevil and I guess… Well, I guess I have to admit I felt a bit… Jealous.”

It was Wade’s turn to be silent. His head, as always, was not.

[DID WE JUST HEAR THAT?}  
{SPIDEY WANTS TO SEX US, AGAIN!}

“W-what! Baby boy, no. No, no, no. Matty is a good Roman Catholic, he is not into all this and a side of tacos. He is my lawyer. I only just go back into the US of A that day-“

[OMG Spidey has been staking US!]  
{Boy has it bad!}

“-and he was coming over as my lawyer and, maybe a friend? I dunno the guy is hard to read. Anyway, he is helping me with my child support issues and adoption paperwork stuff. It’s messy, complicated and way out my scope of expertise. Apparently it would be frowned upon if I was to shoot the people trying to take Ellie away from the only parents she has known since her ma…”

“Y-you have a kid,” Peter stammered, slurring his words ever so slightly, his eyes feeling heavier than usual after a relatively light night of drinking for him.

“Yeah, she is in a bit of a tough spot with ICE considering her mother was from south of the boarder, I am from the north and her adopted parents didn’t really have the ability to get paperwork signed by Carmelita’s corpse. Anyway, Matt is legitimately just helping me out. I think the whole orphan thing hits close to home. Yeah, I know I am alive still, but I have died enough times to count her as an orphan. It’s not like I am gonna let the poor kid grow up here, with this!” He gestured to himself, pouring himself another round.

Peter lent forward to refresh his own glass, however the act of repositioning alone sent the world into free fall for him. Whilst he was familiar with the sensation when out slinging webs, he was yet to experience it from the safety of his armchair. His glass smashed on the floor before Peter had registered that his hands had fallen slack at his sides, his torso slumped back into the cushions.

“What.. the.. fuck,” words were difficult to form as Peter’s mouth worked at half speed at best. His mind tried it’s best to rally, but even the figure in front of him was now a black and red blur, and seemingly much closer than he remembered.

“Hey, it’s ok Petey. Thanks for clearing that up for me.” Wade was crouched in front of Peter, cupping his cheek in his gloved hand, stroking. “I promise you will burn through this dose of thiopentone in, like twenty minutes or so. I experimented on myself for you and all.” His tone suggested he was rather chuffed at that level of consideration put into drugging Peter.

Wade’s mostly covered face swam in front of Peter as he trailed his hand up to sweep the hair sticking to the sweat beading on Peter’s forehead. Teeth clenched, Peter focused enough to grab the wrist Wade was using to prop himself upon. He latched on tight.

“Why..?” Peter’s eyes pleaded with Wade. Sure he felt somewhat blindsided, a touch betrayed at being drugged. But for some strange reason he was somewhat comforted by the fact that Wade had made the effort to work out a dose, using himself as a test subject. Peter tugged at Wade’s arm, Peter’s sluggish muscles screamed in protest.

“Awwh, baby boy, don’t use those eyes against me. You’re a slippery spider at best, so I’ve had to resort to my SS training.” Wade bent over the chair, plucking Peter from his roost, carrying bridal style to the bedroom. “Look, I get that this may be a step to far for you, but the not knowing was too much for me to bear. My mind plays me enough, I don’t need mind games from you, ok?”

[Yeah, back of Spideybutt]  
{That’s our job!}

Peter was placed softly on his twin bed, Wade hovered, almost nervously, by the foot. Wade turned to leave, but a string of webbing caught his middle, holding him back. Peter used the rope of web to pull his torso up. With a tug of his aching bieps, Peter pulled Wade over. He stumbled, landing with a thud and a soft oof. The world was slowly coming back into focus for Peter, and he could feel his muscles coming back under his control, fibre by fibre.

“Ooh how very Toby McGuire of you baby boy.” Wade cooed, righting himself to a kneeling position at Peter’s feet.

“Seriously Wade,” Peter panted, the effort to talk still fading, “I seriously don’t know what you are on about some times.”

Peter reached out, removing the mask that was now sitting askew on the mercenary’s face. “So, you have had your way with me the way you want. But what about the way I want?” Peter growled, forcing Wade face towards his own, lips to crash into his own. _‘At least he didn’t leave me knee deep in debt for the guy who first broke my heart AND was fathered by the man that had my parents killed…’_ Peter thought to himself as he gave into his desire. Something about the dangerous man left Peter’s blood running hotter than the sun and his common sense at the wayside. 

[Holy shit, this is happening again!]  
{We seriously thought this was never going to work THIS way!}

“But if you want _this_ ,” Peter whispered into Wade’s ear, “I am a one-at-a-time guy. Strictly monogamous spider with no post coital decapitation. Unless you drug me again. Seriously though, I am a straight shooter-,“ Wade giggled, “-shut up,” He hissed through a smile creeping into the corners of his mouth. “I mean it! And if you drug me again, I will web you to the lightening rod of Stark tower in a thunderstorm.”

Wade lent back on his haunches, admiring the man laying his heart on the table, even _after_ the drugs he had used to exploit the truth from him had run their course. “I think they are some reasonable T’s and C’s,” Wade grabbed the hair at the base of Peter’s neck, bending his head back, giving him access to lick lines along the taut flesh he exposed below his jaw.

Peter moaned at Wade’s touch, he reached up to the zip under his neck. Slowly, torturously, Peter exposed the planes of Wade’s chest. Peter abandoned his own shirt (and underlying spidey suit) as Wade all but gnawed his gloves off in the haste to remove his jacket and crush his chest against the softness that was Peter’s skin. All body parts now back on line, Peter flipped Wade over, catching him very much by surprise. Thankfully they were still both seated on the bed, a twin bed was not quite enough room for much, let alone the width and breadth of Wade’s shoulders.

“Fuck yeah, baby, it’s hot when you take control!” Peter kissed his way down Wade’s torso, stopping to bite at the hip bones poking out above the belt of his suit. This time Peter had the merc stripped bear with minimal fuss. Peter slipped out of his own remaining layers, resuming his position of above a naked Deadpool. This time Peter wasn’t trembling, he was the one making Wade weak at the knees.

{Lucky we are already in our back.}  
[Prone beneath our sexy spider… _hngggh!_ ]

Peter smashed his lips into Wade’s once again, the feeling back in his extremities didn’t hold him back. He wanted to make sure they both felt the sting of Peter’s teeth for at least a moment after he travelled down Wade’s body once more. Wade’s eyes rolled back in his head as Peter’s soft lips toyed with the exposed head of Wade’s already fully erect cock. 

“Fuck, Petey, your mouth could win an Oscar for what you do to me,” Wade purred, hands twitching with desire to push him further down his length. Peter licked around the scarred ring that was likely once Wade’s foreskin, it’s thicker than usual consistency _did wonderful things_ when inside Peter.

“God Wade, your cock is amazing!” Peter’s pupils were dilated, a combination of arousal and pharmacology. He webbed a bottle of lube from his night stand and ran a slick coating up the length in question. His fingers still slick, he reached around to prep himself. 

“Mmm baby boy, have you paid any attention to yourself lately?” Wade asked, taking a chance to stroke at the throbbing member between Peter’s lean thighs. Peter’s breath hitched, he grabbed Wade’s wrists, pinning them above his head as Peter slowly seated himself on the merc’s hard length.

“Yes, _ohmigawd_ Peter!” Wade was practically crying with the joy he felt being pushed into the tight warmth. Wade sat up to assault Peter’s pale neck with his lips and teeth. He was able to leave a few marks that should at least last until morning.

Peter hooked his thighs around the muscular counterparts of Wade’s legs, seating himself fully on Wade’s lap. He returned the favour but, of course, no mark Peter left lasted more than a few seconds on Wade’s skin. Undeterred, Peter began gently thrusting himself along the length within him. Peter’s eyes took their turn to roll back, allowing the slower thrusts to drive Wade crazy. Peter could feel the merc’s grip tightening on Peter’s neck and hip. Peter did not pick the pace up until Wade’s nails were literally digging into his milky flesh.  
Thrusting himself into the next gear, literally-

{[We see what you did there, Author!]} 

-Wade could have sworn Peter was trying to kill him for real. He had to focus for a moment to not blow his load there and then. Wade’s hands both gripped at the spiderling’s hips, driving him down harder each time he came down into his lap. Peter’s hand crept up from where they rested on Wade’s broad shoulders, placing it around the other man’s trachea. He squeezed ever so slightly, an approving grunt was Wade’s way of reply. Peter clamped down tighter, not enough to un-alive his mate, but enough to have Wade seeing stars and on the precipice of unloading shortly after.

Wade’s slipped a hand along Peter’s hip, finding his cock leaking precum. Grabbing his lover in hand, Wade pumped him in time with the final thrusts that sent the pair into simultaneous orgasm. 

Somehow they both managed to fit themselves onto Peter’s small bed. Peter once again nuzzled into Wade’s larger chest. Wade drifted off as Peter watched his chest rise and fall, sleep taking him not long after.

\---

Peter woke alone in his small bed, the sheets much more askew than if he had spent the night alone. He panicked momentarily, worried he may have scared Wade off somehow, but a smile seated itself on Peter’s face as he replayed the antics and conversations that had transpired here just a few hours previously. Peter could smell coffee and, was that cinnamon? Peter wrangled himself into a pair of clean boxers hearing a knock on his front door. Wade, wearing his mask and suit pants, scarred chest on full show, beat Peter to the intrusion on what he had planned to be a warm and sweet post coital morning with his, now official, beau. 

Wade opened the door and was able to see the muscles slack in MJ’s formerly snooty face as she took in the imposing form awaiting her in Peter’s doorframe. She nearly dropped the box to meet her jaw on the floor as Peter sidled next to Wade, sliding his around Wade’s muscular waist. 

“P-peter?” MJ stuttered by way of greeting, her eyes barely leaving the large figure leaning against the doorjamb. 

“Oh hey MJ,” Peter came off nonchalant, but deep down he was laughing almost manically. MJ always resented being a ‘normy’ dating a supe, she deeply resented not being special herself. He took the box of his possessions from the dumbfounded woman.

Wade immediately disliked the skinny red head, he leant over to Peter’s ear, not quite whispering, “Hey baby boy, coffee is getting cold.”

Peter blushed with delight at his nickname being used in front of his clearly envious ex. “Well, thanks for dropping this off MJ. See you around, I guess.” Peter closed the door on her shell shocked face with barely a second to spare before Wade was mask-less and all over him. Their faces pressed against each other and Wade’s hands in Peter’s hair. This was quickly becoming a favourite use of Wade’s mouth and fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing m/m fan-fic. I have thoughts on where to go next if y'all would like more of this - please leave kudos or positive comments if you want more!  
> -Peace-


End file.
